


you never live if you never learn

by down2thebone (aisu10)



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Gen, Underage Drinking, accidentally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 01:57:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17336522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aisu10/pseuds/down2thebone
Summary: after consuming an ofrenda offering not meant for him, miguel has a miraculous encounter with his great great grandfather.





	you never live if you never learn

as miguel’s first día de muertos since his trip to the land of the dead draws to a close, the young musician finds himself surprisingly _unsatisfied_. he’d had a fantastic night performing with his family on the holiday for the first year ever, but although he was sure he felt their presence among them, he missed the dead riveras he’d met the year before. after all his family members have headed off to bed and he’s pretended to, miguel sneaks back out to the courtyard and slips into the ofrenda room. there he gazes glumly up at the photos of his ancestors, lingering on the repaired portrait of papá héctor and his little family. though he’s confident that he’d restored mamá coco’s memories in time, he can’t escape the occasional flicker of doubt that shadows his mind every now and then. if only there was a way to see him again, just to be _completely_ sure...  
  
his gaze then falls on an offering he’d left out for papá héctor beside the frame. it’s a box of some kind of chocolates mamá coco had described to him as héctor’s favorite, back when she was still with him instead of her mother and father in the land of the dead. stealing from a grave was what got him cursed the first time around... maybe stealing from an ofrenda isn’t the same, but it could be worth a shot, right? slowly, he reaches for the box and lifts it off the altar. nothing happens. lips pressed together nervously, he carries it over to a nearby table, sits down, and opens the lid of the box. inside are a dozen little bon-bons wrapped in foil. they smell enticingly good, rich and chocolatey with a hint of spice, and miguel’s mouth waters despite him having eaten his weight in tamales earlier during the party. maybe... if he just ate _one_... eating an offering meant for a dead ancestor must count as _some_ kind of offense...  
  
his heart pounding in his chest, miguel unwraps one of the sweets with trembling hands and guides it to his mouth. he fully expects the marigolds decorating the room around him to glimmer and his body to go transparent the second he takes the first bite — but still, nothing happens. instead, he’s left to savor the strong taste of the bon-bon with his decidedly tangible tongue, eyebrows pinching together in confusion at the unfamiliar tang. it burns his throat a little when he swallows, but the burst of flavor that accompanies it is unlike anything miguel has ever experienced before. immediately he wants to try another one, but he stops himself, trying to remember his purpose. he looks around the room to see if he can see any of his ancestors yet, but none have appeared. he looks back down at the box of chocolates. maybe he just hasn’t stolen _enough_. a second one might do the trick.  
  
he unwraps the next chocolate, popping it eagerly into his mouth. the recurring burn causes him to pucker his lips but the warmth it ignites in his stomach is worth the brief unpleasantness. before he knows it, four or five more of the treats have disappeared down his throat as he sits waiting for a sign, something, anything, to tell him that his ancestors are really there. as time stalls on he begins to get hazier and hazier, his head lolling to his shoulder and his limbs growing heavy. whether this is due to sleepiness or the strange soporific effect of the sweets, he does not know. eventually he can’t fight the pull of unconsciousness and dozes off right there at the table with empty candy wrappers scattered around his head.  
  
—  
  
after the family gathering in the rivera courtyard had ended, all the songs sung and the food eaten, the skeletons all began to head home — all but héctor. this being his first time in the land of the living since he was living himself, the newly-reinstated rivera patriarch stayed behind to continue enjoying the sights and sounds of the world he’d left too soon. weaving through crowds of living men, women, and children all dressed festively in calaverita makeup, he felt right at home as he took a long stroll through santa cecelia, visiting some of his old haunts and even stepping up onto the plaza stage where he and ernesto had performed for their first audience all those years ago. but after a while, the streets began to clear as everyone headed off to bed, and the town started to feel as dead as the land across the marigold bridge. héctor took this as his cue to make his way back to the cemetery — but not before dropping by the rivera ofrenda one last time to pick up the gifts his living family had left for him.  
  
when he arrives, the courtyard is deserted. trampled cempasuchil petals lead his way to the ofrenda room where the altar awaits, lit only by candles and the moonlight flooding in the open door. he expects it to be just as empty as the courtyard, but is surprised to find the tiny form of his favorite grandson slumped over a small table in the center of the room.  
  
“miguel?” héctor murmurs in surprise. he knows his descendent won’t be able to hear him, but he’s still worried for the boy. shouldn’t he be in bed already like the rest of his family? as he approaches, miguel stirs, first mumbling something to himself, then jumping with a hiccup. he lifts his head groggily and stares _right at him_.  
  
“héctor...?”  
  
héctor freezes in his tracks. miguel shouldn’t be able to see him. not unless he’s —  
  
rushing forward as fast as his limping legs can take him, héctor hovers anxiously by the boy’s side and looks him over. he’s staring disbelievingly up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, face flushed bright in the flickering candlelight. reaching out incredulously, héctor’s hand succeeds in cradling miguel’s cheek. a shudder of horror runs down his bare spine.  
  
“m-miguel, you — you shouldn’t be able to see me. i shouldn’t be able to _touch_ you! are you alright? are you —“  
  
miguel doesn’t answer his question, just blinking dizzily up at him in some kind of shock. all he manages to mumble is a delirious, “y-you’re _here_ — you made it...”  
  
his face is hot, nearly feverish to the touch of héctor’s cold skeletal hand, and for a moment héctor wonders if he’s just unused to the heat of living skin before he takes another look at the blush coloring the boy’s cheeks and decides he is definitely unnaturally warm. if he’s got a temperature, there’s no way he can be dead, but héctor still tilts miguel’s chin up and seeks his pulse anyway, finds it fluttering fast against the bone of his thumb.  
  
the skeleton breathes a sigh of relief through his ribcage. miguel is alive, that’s for sure. but still, something _strange_ is going on.  
  
dropping his hand from miguel’s face, héctor steps back and inspects the scene. on the table before the dazed boy is a half-empty box of sweets and a bunch of discarded wrappers. héctor picks up one of the wrappers and sniffs it. an oh-so-familiar smell invades his skull — a mix of chocolate, cinnamon, chili, and _tequila_. the smell of his favorite treat... his favorite _alcoholic_ treat.  
  
starting to fully come to now, miguel pipes up to assure his grandfather, “i-it’s okay papá héctor... i’m not dead, i’m —“  
  
“— _drunk_ ,” héctor interrupts.  
  
shifting in a vain attempt to sit up straighter in his chair, miguel nods sheepishly. “i... i think so.”  
  
despite everything, a smile crosses héctor’s bony lips. miguel _would_ find a way to get himself _drunk_ on día de muertos, just a year after he’d nearly _died_. chuckling fondly, the skeleton taps on the open box of chocolates.  
  
“how’d you know to get me these?”  
  
“they’re one of the things mama coco remembered about you,” miguel explains softly. “i-i didn’t know what was in them...”  
  
“it’s okay, chamaco. but those things pack one hell of a punch — i think you’re feeling it now.”  
  
miguel nods shakily and hiccups once more, shoulders jumping reflexively. thoroughly endeared, héctor musses up the boy’s hair with one big hand.  
  
“let’s get you to bed, kid.”  
  
—  
  
walking at a careful pace, héctor leads miguel out of the ofrenda room and across the courtyard to his own domicile. he’s got one hand securely gripping the boy’s shoulder, holding him upright in case he stumbles in his drunken haze. each one of those bon-bons contains nearly a _whole_ _shot_ of tequila — it’s a wonder miguel isn’t still completely out cold. maybe he inherited his tolerance, héctor thinks proudly.  
  
“i’m really glad to see you, héctor,” miguel says quietly as they walk. his speech is still a bit slurred, but his sentiment is clear. “i didn’t know if you... well, i always _believed_ you did, but it’s just — it’s nice to know for sure.”  
  
héctor smiles down at him, squeezing the soft flesh of his shoulder. “i’m glad to see you, too. though, i don’t know how it’s happening.”  
  
“me neither,” miguel replies, equally dumbfounded.  
  
“well, i’m not complaining. it’s nice to get to touch mi gordito favorito again,” he teases, pinching miguel’s chubby cheek.  
  
“c’mon!” miguel groans, slapping his hand away with an uncoordinated flail of his own. “not you, too!”  
  
“i’m part of the family now, mijo,” héctor quips with a grin, “whether you like it or not.”  
  
as they round the hall to miguel’s room, they pass by a door that causes miguel’s voice to take on a trembling, somber tone. “...how’s mamá coco?”  
  
héctor’s ribcage clenches around where his heart should be at the words, a melancholy mix of feelings flooding through his bones.

“she’s doing great, chamaco. she was so happy to see mamá imelda again. to see me, too.” he chokes up a little on the last bit, still overwhelmed, months later, by the joyous memory of their first meeting in 90 years. he looks down at miguel, smiling softly. “she talks about you all the time.”  
  
miguel nods, taking this all in. the next thing héctor hears from him is a sniff, followed by a timid request of, “t-tell her i miss her, ok? tell her i love her.”  
  
“of course i will, chamaco. she feels your love every day, i’m sure of it. we all do. every time you play, every time you sing — we’re listening. we feel you.”  
  
nodding and sniffling again, miguel stops in front of his door and pauses to rub his eyes dry before pushing it open and stepping into his bedroom, héctor by his side. not about to leave miguel in tears, héctor scoops the kid off the ground and hugs him to his chest, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his narrow back as his thin arms wrap around his neck. he knows, as a grandparent, he’s supposed to always believe that his grandson has grown _so much_ since he last saw him. but to him, miguel hasn’t changed one bit. he’s still the same passionate little kid with a bigger heart than his small body should be able to contain. the same kid who came literally stumbling into him last year and changed _everything_ — the same kid who _saved_ him.  
  
once he’s acknowledged this, it’s hard to let him go. he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get to hold miguel like this again, if his temporary tangibility will last beyond this one night. the next time he gets to hug miguel, he realizes with a wave of dread, he might be able to feel the empty clack of his ribcage against his own instead of the muffled thundering of his heart. if that’s the case, he hopes he has to wait a hundred years to touch him again.  
  
“thanks papá héctor,” miguel murmurs drowsily against héctor’s shoulder once he’s been thoroughly placated by the prolonged embrace. héctor gives the boy one last, long squeeze before placing him gently on his bed and sitting down beside him. he helps him take his shoes off while miguel idly rearranges the blankets, neither quite sure what to say next.  
  
but when miguel begins to tug the blankets over himself in preparation for sleep, héctor stops him suddenly, worrying:  
  
“are you _sure_ you’re not going all see-through again?”  
  
“‘m not — _hey_!”  
  
ignoring his protest, héctor grabs the edge of miguel’s shirt and yanks it upward to get a look at his belly, which turns out to be just as solid and soft as the rest of him. relieved, héctor grins.  
  
“nope, no ribs here... just half of my chocolates!” with his free hand he begins to tickle his exposed skin, eliciting a squeal of laughter from miguel that ends in a fit of hiccups once he’s haphazardly pulled his shirt back down and burritoed himself in the blankets for protection. chuckling himself, héctor reaches over to pluck a petal off one of the cempasuchils in the vase on miguel’s bedside table and holds it over his grandson.  
  
“i’m still going to bless you before i go anyway. just in case.” he winks at the boy, who rolls his eyes but settles back into the pillows in resignation. “fine.”  
  
_“i give you my blessing,”_ héctor recites with a hint of dramatic flair that makes miguel snicker as he brandishes the petal in front of the boy’s nose.  
  
“my blessing to keep _living_ , keep _making music_ , and... keep away from the alcohol until you’re of _legal age.”_  
  
_“papá héctor!”_ miguel laughs, chest shaking the blanket atop it. “it was an _accident!”_ he pauses, then adds thoughtfully, “...they did taste really good though.”  
  
héctor gives a disapproving shake of his head, tapping miguel on the nose with the petal.  
  
“you’re just like me. that’s why i can’t trust you.”  
  
he hands the petal to miguel despite it never glowing like it should have if the boy were cursed; something he’s very grateful for. miguel clutches the petal to his chest, no doubt remembering the way it had engulfed him in light the year prior. it may seem dull and powerless now, but it’s still seeped in the well-wishes of his ancestors, and miguel seems to realize that, as he keeps it tucked reverently beside his heart as he lays back against the pillow. héctor leans in and seals his blessing with a kiss to the boy’s too-warm forehead.  
  
“see you next year, mijo.”  
  
miguel smiles sleepily in response, his eyes already closed. héctor gets up from the bed and, though it’s hard to do, turns and leaves the room. he’d love to stay, but he’s got a bridge to cross and half a box of boozy bon-bons to eat before the sun rises and día de muertos is over for another long year.

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by [this short comic by mosogekidan203](https://twitter.com/mosogekidan203/status/993459223357833218) i saw a while back where miguel eats one of héctor’s alcoholic offerings. the idea stuck with me and i had to do my own take on it! i hope you liked it!! you can find me and my hoard of miguel fanart over on [twitter at down2thebone_](http://www.twitter.com/down2thebone_/).


End file.
